Write Me Letters
by MyNameBeNobody
Summary: As the young girls of the ballet dormitories gathered around to listen to dark tales of the Phantom of the Opera, one little girl wanted to know the truth of the story. And so, she wrote to the Opera Ghost, and one day, he began to write back to her. Erik/OC
1. The First Note

**AN: This is set 14 years before the movie, and characters from the film will pop in and out.**

Chapter 1: The First Note

_October, 1856  
Paris_

"And beneath the mask, a face so grotesque and twisted, his own mother pronounced him a demon at birth and refused to raise him!"

"Ahh." The gasp was unanimous from all the young girls huddled together on the floor, as they listened to Mademoiselle Florentine tell them chilling tales of the Phantom of the Opera.

Arielle was no different from the others, clutching her shawl tight around her to keep the cold out, leaning forwards slightly to better hear Mademoiselle's whispers. Tonight was the perfect night for such tales! The October nights were becoming increasingly more cold as Autumn progressed, and the chill called for dark tales. With her blue eyes as wide as her friends around her, she listened with rapt attention.

"What happened next?" Nicole asked intently; almost hiding her face in her brunette curls.

Mademoiselle Florentine took a deep breath for effect, and even though they all knew the story by now, the suspense building up was tangible in the air.

"It was taken in by a gypsy fair, and kept on show, so that the world would know of the devil's child," she whispered darkly, "Kept in a cage, with nothing but the barest scraps to keep it alive, a bag over it's head to stop others from having to look on it unless it was on show. They-"

"How horrible." The sentence was barely breathed out, but everyone heard, and turned to stare at Arielle for having uttered it. Suddenly nervous under their stares, she pulled her long braid of black hair over her shoulder, grasping it in hand and tugging on it to distract herself. "I just meant-"

"What was horrible was the demon child," Sophie butted in, "He deserved it for being so ugly."

"Sophie!" Madame Giry's voice cracked through the air like a whip, "Surely you would not judge a person so harshly simply for the face they couldn't help being born with."

The blonde girl turned pink, and all the rest of them jumped, no one had heard Madame Giry approach. Even Mademoiselle Florentine looked a little flustered at the presence of her senior. Madame Giry may be the same age as Mademoiselle Florentine, but she had a strength and presence that gave her the automatic authority over the other woman.

She strode into the centre of the circle of girls, standing in front of Mademoiselle Florentine, the braid of blonde hair around her head seeming to be a crown as she gazed over them all regally. Every girl shrank back a little under that stare, and Arielle bit her lip, already worried about what would happen next.

"The Opera Ghost is no monster," Madame Giry said clearly, "He is nothing more than a lost soul, whom we are lucky enough to house here in the Opera House." She turned and fixed Mademoiselle Florentine with a hard look, "And I would hope that none here would speak with certainty about what they do not understand. Mademoiselle Florentine, it is the girls' bedtime, I will see to them now."

"Yes, Madame," Mademoiselle Florentine rose from her chair and left the room swiftly.

Once the other woman had gone, Madame Giry turned back to the girls, and Arielle felt her direct eye contact as she addressed them all, "To bed girls, you have rehearsals tomorrow, and I don't want any of you being tired."

"Yes, Madame," they all chorused quietly, and then rose in unison to make their way back to their beds.

Arielle slipped quietly into her bed, but didn't sink immediately below the covers. She waited patiently as Madame made her rounds saying goodnight to the girls, it wasn't something that she had to do, but she did it anyway. Most of the girls that shared Arielle dormitory were aged between five and ten, with her sitting in the middle at 7, and many missed their families while they stayed here. Of course, they were the luckier ones. Arielle knew that more than a few girls in this room were orphans, who had come to live and train in the ballet dormitories when their parents had died. She missed her family, but she knew that it was small hardship compared to having no family to miss.

And so she didn't complain or fidget as Madame Giry spent a little longer talking to those girls, she simply waited.

When Madame finally approached her bed, Arielle sat up a little straighter, "Madame, may I ask you something?"

"Is it about the Opera Ghost?" Madame Giry inquired; taking a seat on the edge of Arielle's bed.

She nodded, "I just wanted to know... who is he really? Why does he hide in the Opera House? Why is everyone afraid of him?"

"Well my dear," Madame smiled and gently motioned for Arielle to lie down so that she could pull the covers up over her, "He is just a man, nothing more. He hides here in the Opera House, because it is where he belongs. He is an artist, composer, architect, and magician; this Opera house is his stage, and his home. And why do people fear him? People will often fear what they do not understand."

"Do you understand him then, Madame Giry?" she asked; snuggling down into her bed.

"More than most, my dear," Madame replied with a sad little smile, "More than most."

Arielle smiled in return, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Madame pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then rose to move to the next girl.

When Madame was finished, and blew out the candle by the door as she left, Arielle heard a faint whisper to her left.

"Arielle, why did you ask Madame those questions about the Opera Ghost?" her friend, Katarin questioned softly.

"I just wanted to know," she replied in equal tones.

"But why? Aren't you scared of him?"

Arielle turned over onto her side, "No, no I'm not."

**~0~**

She didn't know what woke her in the middle of the night, but something did. One moment she was sound asleep, deep in a delightful dream about summertime at home. The next, she was wide awake, her eyes staring blindly into a black room. There was no sound around her, save for the quiet breaths of her sleeping friends. Faintly, she could hear the sound of late night Paris, it drifted into the room with a cold draft from a crack in the wall somewhere.

For a few moments she lay in her bed, the covers drawn up to her chin to keep out the cold, and smiled as she thought back over her dream. Back at home with her family, her parents hugging her at every opportunity, her big brother dangling her in his arms.

But then another thought hit her. Had the Opera Ghost ever had that? What had his family been like? Had he even known them? A wave of sadness washed over her. At least the orphan girls here had known their families, and had some memories to cling to. Did the Opera Ghost even have those?

An idea seized her.

In a moment her covers had been thrown back, and she had crept silently from her bed. Reaching her arm deep under her bed, she groped around for her little writing table, shivering in the night air. As soon as she felt her fingers touch the smooth wood, she pulled it swiftly towards her. The harsh sound it made as wood slid over wood caused her to wince, and look around. But no one stirred, and she exhaled softly.

Slipped back under her covers as quickly as she could, she grabbed her shawl to wrap around her shoulders as she sat upright against the hard headboard. Pulling the little table into her lap, she lifted the lid and pulled out a sheet of paper, a pan, and the little stub of candle she kept in there. Fumbling around further, she found one of the matches floating around the bottom, and struck it against one side of the table.

By the light of the spluttering candle, she began to put pen to paper.

_Dear Opera Ghost,  
Tonight, Mademoiselle Florentine was telling us stories about you, but I didn't really enjoy them. She said that you were a demon child, that your parents had cast your out and you had been raised in a gypsy caravan, kept in a cage and put on show. She told us that you were ugly beyond all hope of beauty, and to look upon you was painful.  
I think that that is mean, has she ever seen you? I didn't think that anybody had, so how can anyone know what you look like?  
I asked Madame Giry about it later, and she told me that you were nothing more than a man, and that this Opera House was your home, which is why you live here. She said that people don't understand you, and that's why they are afraid of you. Do you know Madame Giry? Because she seemed like she might know you.  
I don't know if you'll even find this, but people say that the Opera Ghost lives in the dark places of the Opera House, so I'll put it in the little passage that runs behind the dormitories, and goes down to the old storeroom. No one uses it, so maybe you'll find it.  
Arielle La Farge_

She had no way to seal the envelope, so she simply tucked the open flap inside. Her letter written, she gently eased herself out of bed, trying not to disturb the writing table, and slipped her feet into her shoes. Taking her candle stub over to the lamp Madame Giry had blown out, she relit it, and blew out her own light, leaving it on the table by the door.

The old hinges creaked a little as she opened it, but once again, her fellow roommates were too deep in sleep to be woken by the noise. She barely noticed the cold now, her excitement too great as she padded down the stairs to the old passage way. Not a soul was awake in this part of the Opera House, and so no one saw the little girl make her way through the halls.

Once she arrived, she found a crack in the wall to slip her little note into, leaving half of it hanging out, easy for anyone to see. She looked at it for a while, and felt a smile widen on her face.

It stayed there as she tiptoed back to her bed, and she wore it in her sleep through the rest of the night.


	2. The First Reply

**AN: Thanks to newbornphanatic for pointing out my error, I've gone back and fixed it :)  
Also, the first few chapters will be a lot less dialogue, and focus on letters. This in particular is a very broken up chapter, I apologise if it seems a little jerky, but that is the intended nature of it.**

Chapter 2: The First Reply

Arielle was so excited the next day, full of hope that the Opera Ghost had found her note and read it. Would he write her back at once? Would he write her back at all? She didn't know for sure, and the questions kept her active and energetic in spite of her lack of sleep. Her friends noticed, and some commented, but others simply said nothing.

"Well done, Arielle," Madame Giry praised, "Excellent dancing."

"You're never normally this happy when we have an early morning practise," Katerin whispered softly from behind her, "You're normally much more quiet and spend the lesson glaring and stumbling."

"I do not!" Arielle protested, her too-loud cry earning the girls a stern look from Madame across the dance floor. Pitching her voice lower, she repeated, "_I do not._"

Katerin giggled, "Yes, you do! Why so different today?"

"I don't know," Arielle replied, "Maybe I'm just waiting for a pleasant surprise."

"What kind of surprise?" Katerin pressed.

"The kind that-"

"Girls! Focus, please," Madame Giry instructed.

Arielle cast a brief glance over her shoulder, and saw Katerin biting her lip to keep from laughing, her gaze kept sternly away from Arielle's own. She laughed softly, and turned back to the front. Feeling less like she was dancing, and more like she was flying.

Practise seemed to drag on longer than Arielle was used to, or perhaps that was because she was simply so eager to escape it. Either way, as soon as the girls were dismissed, she did not stream after her friends as they raced back to the dormitory to change.

"Arielle, where are you going?" Katerin asked; turning away from the others to catch her arm.

She pulled away gently, "I just need to check something, I'll be up soon."

"What?"

"I'll tell you later," she called over her shoulder; making her way down to the old storeroom passage.

She was disheartened when she saw that the letter had not moved, and felt her good mood begin to plummet. Giving herself a vigorous mental shake, she tried to put it in focus. It was a big Opera House, it was entirely probably, and highly likely, that he simply had not been around this part of it yet. Of course, the 'yet' was working on the theory that he even wondered there at all.

She tried to remain positive, and keep in mind that he could always find it later. She didn't need a reply right away. Still... she was in less bright spirits when she returned upstairs. Thankfully, not even Katerin noted it.

The next day, Arielle once more ran down to the passage way as soon as her classes finished. But again, the note still stood where she had left it on the first night.

Three more days passed, and she truly began to lose hope a little that it would ever be found by the Opera Ghost, let alone read by him and replied to. She forgot to check one day, or perhaps she simply didn't want to face the disappointment again. She thought of not going back at all, but something drove her down there.

"If it's not gone," she said quietly to herself, as she pushed open the door and descended down, "Then I will give it up."

She bit her lip with anticipation as she walked closer, the only light coming from what spilled through the door she had left propped open. As she got closer, she found that she didn't want to look. She put her hand to the wall, and let it slid along until she reached the spot she was sure she had put the letter. Her fingers skimmed over a gap in the cool bricks, but there was nothing protruding there to block her path.

Her eyes flew open, and her fingers scrabbled again at the little gap in the wall.

The letter was gone.

Arielle's excitement was an unstoppable force of nature for the next couple of days. She was more enthusiastic in rehearsal than she had ever been. When running around the Opera House with the other girls, she never tired of the games they played. Late at night, when they all whispered together, the slightest thing would set her laughing.

But as with all things, when there is nothing to sustain them, her good mood began to drop, as more days went by without a reply from the Opera Ghost. Arielle tried to be rational about it, after all, could she truly expect a mysterious figure like the Ghost to reply to the questionings of a young ballet dancer? It was silly!

"I don't know why I wrote the note in the first place," she muttered under her breath one night, as Madame Giry was putting the girls to bed.

"What was that, Arielle?" Madame inquired; bending to pull her covers higher.

She didn't want to explain exactly what she had done to Madame, in case she did not approve, so she simply said, "I tried something, but it didn't work, now I wonder if I should have bothered."

"It is always good to try," Madame Giry replied firmly, "And if at first you don't achieve what it was you wished, then you must simply try again. If you want to reach your goal badly enough, then you will keep on going until you do. Now, goodnight, my dear."

"Goodnight..." Arielle replied absently, but her mind was already at work once more, and she knew that she would again by up late that night.

_Dear Opera Ghost,  
I am very sorry if my first note was... well, I don't remember what I wrote exactly, but I'm sorry if I offended you in anyway. I was just curious about you, because there are so many stories, but at the same time, all the stories claim that no one has ever seen or met you. If that is so, then how are there stories? I don't understand, could you perhaps tell me? I would very much like to know the true story, just so that I know.  
Thank you,  
Arielle La Farge_

The second note disappeared much faster than the first, and her guess was that perhaps after finding the first note, the Opera Ghost may find himself wondering in that part of the Opera House more. That extra bit of speed gave her hope that perhaps this time she may gain a reply.

But again, after almost a week had passed, there was still nothing left for her in the little secret space.

"I will try this one last time," she whispered furiously to herself; as she was once more up late with a pen in her hand, "If he does not wish to reply after this, then I will leave him to his wonderings."

_Dear Opera Ghost,  
I realise due to your lack of reply, that my letters may be more of an annoyance to you than anything else, and if you do not wish to reply to this final one, then I promise that I won't bother you again. But, since you obviously checked the spot once more, and read the second letter, I hope that maybe you will find something in this note to which you can form a reply of any kind.  
What I haven't stated yet, is the reason for my curiosity. I only have as many wonderings as I do because of something that happened to my own father. Two years ago, there was a fire at my father's work, he used to be employed as a tailor, before the accident. For afterwards, though he lived where some did not, his hands were left horribly burnt from touching the fire, and he can no longer work. His bottom of his face was scared too, not the top because he was covering his eyes from the smoke, but his cheeks, chin, and nose are now scarred.  
People don't like to look at father anymore, they turn away, or scream and yell and point. He doesn't leave the house much anymore, and if he does, it's only ever at night or with a hood up. I think that he's like you then in some ways, and if he is, then I can understand why you don't like coming out and letting people meet you. And because of that, I can understand why you wouldn't want to reply to the ramblings of a seven year old child.  
But at the same time, aren't you lonely? Wouldn't you like someone to talk to? Tell your story to? I only ask because I know that my father feels that way sometimes, but if you don't I guess I'll understand, people are different.  
Arielle La Farge_

And so, once more she walked down by spluttering candlelight to the passageway. Once more she found the little gap in the bricks to slip her note into. And once more the waiting began.

For once after writing the Opera Ghost a note, Arielle was tired the next morning, and a little sluggish in class.

"Your moods have been all over the place for the past few weeks," Katerin noted, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm just in the middle of a project," she replied; stifling a yawn and trying to concentrate on her steps.

"What project?" Katerin pressed.

"Just something little."

Katerin glanced over her shoulder, her blue eyes half accusing, half amused, "You keep a lot of secrets, Arielle La Farge."

"I'm not the only one in the Opera House who does," Arielle said, deliberately making her tone more mysterious sounding, not liking the strange look of hurt in her friend's eyes.

After that practise, she slipped down to the passageway, intending to take a nap as soon as she'd checked to see if the note had been taken. Before she even got too close, she saw that there was still the bit of paper wedged between the bricks. Feeling her shoulders slump, Arielle turned to head back up to the dormitories, when something caught her eye.

She crept closer, and it became clearer. Just visible peeking out of the bricks, was a blob of red sealing wax. She had no method of sealing her notes, which meant that this was not the letter she had written.

The Opera Ghost had finally written back to her.


End file.
